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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431010">Stolen</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenaJones/pseuds/SerenaJones'>SerenaJones</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Six Couples Arc 1 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime &amp; Manga)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Bottom Yami Yuugi | Atem, Conventions, M/M, Passion, Puzzleshipping, Top Mutou Yuugi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-21</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-05 06:22:25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,812</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/25431010</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/SerenaJones/pseuds/SerenaJones</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Some things aren't for sale</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Mutou Yuugi/Yami Yuugi, Puzzleshipping - Relationship</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>Six Couples Arc 1 [6]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1841818</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>8</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Stolen</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This week it's Portland. </p>
<p>Two weeks ago, it was Kansas City. Three weeks from now, it will be Baltimore. I spend half my life in hotels.</p>
<p>Most of my co-workers think I'm crazy. They're actually thrilled that somebody on the team doesn't mind all the travel, but they think I must be nuts to do it. I probably am.</p>
<p>I don't have any family, since Grandpa passed. I'm not dating. My only hobbies are video games, anime and manga. Since I work in the PR department of a major manga importer, everything works out perfectly for me. I get to attend damn near every convention in the country - usually in cosplay, as a bonus - and the company pays for it!</p>
<p>It's not everyone who gets to blend what they love to do with what they do to get paid.</p>
<p>There are a few other anime road warriors out there. Most of them stick to one region. Maybe five of us crisscross the country.</p>
<p>He's one of them.</p>
<p>He's an artist. He always has a booth in Artist's Alley. He's pretty good, actually.</p>
<p>The first time I saw him, he was sitting at his booth, sketching something. His hair was dyed in three stages - black, red, blond. It was spiked too. He had red eyes. Not bloodshot or pink. Red. I knew they had to be contacts, but it just looked so right on him. Most of the art on the booth around him was original, but there were a few pieces labeled 'display only' that were trademarked. Several of them belonged to my company.</p>
<p>All of his art was yaoi.</p>
<p>Casually, I strolled over.</p>
<p>"That's licensed, you know." I pointed to one of my favorites. It depicted our number one selling series’ lead character sodomizing his elder brother. "You have to take it down."</p>
<p>He shrugged as he looked at me. "It's fan art. It's not for sale." His eyes slowly rolled up my body and back down again.</p>
<p>I admit, I'm not much at first glance. I'm kind of short, and my hair's pretty wild. I have a tri-color dye job too. But I work out and tend to cosplay cut, half-naked guys - always from my company’s series, of course - so I get by.</p>
<p>That day, I was dressed up as one of the Warlords from our desert adventure series. I had on white skirt-like shorts, a pair of sashes that held my sword and my bow, and not much else.</p>
<p>His eyes stopped on mine and he pursed his lips. "Are you going to report me or something?"</p>
<p>I sat on the edge of his table. I have great legs for my height - no brag, just fact. "I could."</p>
<p>"I don't suppose we could go somewhere and talk about it. I'm sure we could come to an understanding."</p>
<p>I thought about it. "I suppose."</p>
<p>He put his drawing down. "Mike," he said to the artist at the next table. "Watch my stuff. Be right back."</p>
<p>We didn't wait for the man to respond.</p>
<p>The back wall of Artist's Alley was a row of curtains, mostly to allow the staff to move in and out of the access corridors without running into convention goers. It was empty.</p>
<p>We went an additional three feet to the emergency stairwell before I pinned him to the wall and kissed him. His hands went down to my thighs. He moaned in slight disappointment as his hands roamed upward, discovered that they were shorts, not a skirt, and that I wasn’t running around bare-assed in public. I moved his hands to my waistband and put my own on his belt. At no point did we stop kissing, so I hoped that he was ok with where I was going.</p>
<p>He pushed my shorts over my ass and before they hit the floor had a hand on my cock, so I guess he was pretty ok with it. It felt great the way he stroked, and I groaned a bit to encourage more while I got his tight jeans open.</p>
<p>Unfortunately, I couldn’t get them past his hips with us lip locked. Reluctantly, I pulled away and dropped down. The jeans were sexy as fuck to look at, but hell to pull off of him.</p>
<p>After a minute, he gasped and shoved the resistant pants to his knees. Then he stood me up as he turned to face the wall. “Quit teasing!”</p>
<p>“I wanna see your eyes,” I whined.</p>
<p>Which did not stop me from giving the offered asshole a quick swipe of my tongue, then holding open the round cheeks protecting it. I was hard enough that I didn’t need a hand to line up and slide in; and he was either prepped or more of a slut than I was, because I did just slide in. Both of us groaned with pleasure.</p>
<p>“Oh dear God! I had no idea you were a tripod,” he gasped. “You don’t advertise.”</p>
<p>“My secret weapon,” I chuckled. “Your ass is tighter than your jeans.”</p>
<p>“Even the Mariana Trench would be stretched to accommodate that weapon!”</p>
<p>I held his hips and pushed in deep enough to hold his whole body against me. He inhaled sharply. “Is that a bad thing?” I whispered in his ear.</p>
<p>He grabbed one of my hands and put it around his cock. He was hard and already leaking. “You don’t fuck me now, I’m gonna shoot somebody!” he growled.</p>
<p>It was what I was planning on doing anyway, so he shot the wall instead. Several times.</p>
<p>I saw him a couple times later that same convention, but we couldn’t manage another hook up - which was a shame.</p>
<p>Convention hook-ups are kind of a fetish for me.</p>
<p>I had sex for the first time ever when I was 16. My Grandfather - my only real parent - let me and a couple friends go to a local convention overnight. It was awesome, even not including the sex, and since we managed not to get into any trouble and brought back everything on Grampa’s shopping list, he began trusting me to go to other conventions as I got older.</p>
<p>But that first one, my friends and I were, of course, too young to get into any of the Adult Only events, but we tried to hang out near them to see if we could see anything anyway. Of course we couldn’t, but this older guy - not old, just like 20 or so - asked us if we wanted to see what the ‘Yaoi World Tour’ session was about. My buddies knew what yaoi was, but I didn’t, so I said yes. My friends were laughing their asses off when the guy took me down the hall. Fortunately for me, the blow job the guy gave me in the men’s room was mind blowing.</p>
<p>I was kind of loopy when I got back, and my buddies thought I was traumatized, so we never discussed it. And the rest of our friends thought I was kind of naive, so I just let everyone keep thinking that. Especially when I realized that older guys like innocent young boys. My co-workers think I’m a prude sexually. They have no idea the amount of sex I have.</p>
<p>And a lot of it was with this Artist guy. Boston, Somerset, Pittsburgh, Fort Wayne, Detroit (twice), Raleigh, Tampa, Washington, everywhere I can think of. He’s not at every con I attend, but if we see each other, we hit it at least twice. In Madison, we hit it every day plus we ran into each other at the airport and hit it again before my flight to Chicago.</p>
<p>Mostly I’m top, but we switch off occasionally. We do oral sometimes. Sometimes, we just kiss and beat each other off - usually if we’re in a video room or someplace we need to be extremely quiet. Oddly enough, we’ve never been in one of our rooms, or on a real bed. The closest was once in Austin when we’d wandered into a hotel staff only area and found an unused couch.</p>
<p>The Artist Guy. I don’t even know his name.</p>
<p>The second time I saw him, I knew it was him immediately - he had the same tri-dyed hair, the same red contacts. He’d added a leather jacket, but he had the same tight jeans. I was wearing one of Ultra King’s suits. It was a running gag in the series that by the fifth panel of combat, something had to happen to shred his tailored suit and provide fan service. I was wearing the fifth-panel suit: a jacket, tie, and shirt with the chest burned out, and pants with most of the legs destroyed.</p>
<p>The Artist Guy saw me before I got to his booth. I saw him smirk, then begin looking through some portfolio cases. By the time I got to his table, he was hanging a poster of Ultra King being blown while he casually sipped a glass of wine and fired a laser pistol over his shoulder at an enemy fleet.</p>
<p>“I think we need to have another conversation about trademarks.”</p>
<p>“Why, was there something else you needed to learn?”</p>
<p>“Quick mouth, you have there,” I said.</p>
<p>“You have no idea.”</p>
<p>He blew me in the artist’s break room.</p>
<p>We did catch each other a second time at that con. He came into the dealer room while I was working our booth. I finished with a couple of fan girls who wanted to know a bunch of release dates, then looked at him. “Need something?”</p>
<p>“Maybe. What would you suggest?”</p>
<p>“The poster you’d like is in the van. I’ll go get it.” I didn’t take my eyes off him. “Stacy, be right back!”</p>
<p>He went with me. Of course, we didn’t get anywhere near the parking lot. Hell, we barely made it to the bathroom stall! I did deliver a copy of the poster to his booth later, but he wasn’t there, and we didn’t hook up again that weekend. </p>
<p>After that, I began running into him at a lot of the conventions. He never makes it to Chesapeake in June, but I think he’s in Davenport that weekend. He’s never in Vancouver for Labor Day. I don’t get a lot of flexibility in picking which cons I attend because it’s mostly based on the company’s contracts. I sure as hell wouldn’t be at National Harbor in February if I had a choice!</p>
<p>But Portland I would pick, because The Artist Guy is always at Portland. I’m cosplaying two of his favorites this year. First day is a high-schooler-turned-ghost-warrior whose traditional kimono was always falling open. The Artist Guy had a couple of ‘display only’ pieces of the kid masturbating, but the half-open kimono hiding key details. Second day, I was dressing as the prince from our shota series. The series is pure shotacon fan service, and with my height and looks, the cosplay is actually cliche. But The Artist Guy had a whole series of ‘display only’ posters with the wide-eyed prince being tentacle raped, or bound in leather, or similar hard core sexual situation. The posters were relatively new, so I had to wonder if the Artist wanted to see the prince or me in those positions.</p>
<p>As I thought about it, they were new additions. The Artist never used to draw the prince or any shotacon style characters. Over the last two years, however, he had added a few to his original art and to his ‘display only’ collection.</p>
<p>Two years. The thought stopped me. I’d known this guy - I’d been fucking this guy on a regular basis - for two years. In fact, for the most part, he was the only person I’d fucked for the last two years. I couldn’t remember the last person other than him I’d hooked up with.</p>
<p>Two years and we hadn’t had a conversation longer than three minutes. I didn’t know his name, where he lived, how old he was. We’d never had a meal together. I could get him off in three minutes flat, but I didn’t know three things about him.</p>
<p>For a moment, that seemed sort of sad.</p>
<p>But, I didn’t dwell on it. As soon as I finished dressing, I’d go down to the dealer room and spend a couple hours at my company’s booth, talking about the books and shows I love with people who were huge fans. I’d get a couple pictures taken, I’d take a few, and on my break I’d go to Artist Alley and fuck a guy that once made me come so hard I saw stars.</p>
<p>I made sure that my kimono would slide down my shoulder easily either left or right, but couldn’t slide all the way off, adjusted my blades and left my room.</p>
<p>As I was making sure the door was locked, the door next to mine opened and The Artist Guy stepped into the hall. Same tri-colored hair, same tight jeans. He turned and his eyes went wide as he recognized me. Same red eyes. I suddenly realized that they weren’t contacts.</p>
<p>“Genetic,” he said, smiling. “My mother had them too. We don’t know why.”</p>
<p>“Oh.” I nodded. Now, suddenly, I knew three things about him - he had red eyes, they ran in his family, and he had a mother.</p>
<p>We stood in the hallway, looking at each other. Two beds immediately available.</p>
<p>He licked his lips. “I have to go to a meeting.”</p>
<p>I nodded. “Yeah, I have to go open the booth.”</p>
<p>We headed toward the elevators together. All six seemed to be two hundred floors away from us and moving in the wrong direction as we waited.</p>
<p>“Uh, hey,” he said unexpectedly. “Are we a thing?”</p>
<p>I wanted to say that I didn’t know what he meant, but I knew. We’d been fucking for two years. I wasn’t sure what kind of thing it was, but it was something.</p>
<p>“Uh, yeah.” I still did feel somehow uncomfortable about it. “I kind of think we are.”</p>
<p>He let out a rueful laugh. “Longest relationship of my life, and I don’t even know your name.”</p>
<p>I half smiled at that. “Same. Yugi.”</p>
<p>“Yami.” He pursed his lips, then offered his hand. We shook.</p>
<p>Then I laughed. “Neither of us should be this freaked out, right?”</p>
<p>“Right,” he agreed.</p>
<p>“Nothing changed,” I said, lifting my kimono shoulder up again. It slid the other way. “Now we just have names.”</p>
<p>“Right.”</p>
<p>There was a ding behind us, and the elevator door opened. I expected it to be crowded, but we were the only ones on it. The door closed.</p>
<p>Yami slammed me into the corner and tried to inhale my lungs. “I don’t know what it is about you, Yugi, but I cannot get enough!” he moaned.</p>
<p>“Elevator’s too fast!” I hissed, groping his ass through his jeans. “Two hours. I’ll be at your booth.”</p>
<p>He dipped his head down and bit my exposed nipple. I gasped as the elevator stopped. He got off as several people got on. I tried to stop panting.</p>
<p>Yami.</p>
<p>I was in adrenaline overdrive. I was hyper. I was so hard, I could have used my cock as a table. For two hours, I bounced around our booth, happily giving out freebies, answering questions and generally enjoying the convention.</p>
<p>Yami.</p>
<p>Then, I got my break and bolted out of the dealer room. Yami’s booth was in the back of Artist’s Alley this time, and he had a group of fangirls cooing over his latest work. Over his head hung a picture of me.</p>
<p>Not something close, or a manga version. Me.</p>
<p>I stood back as Yami sold a couple pieces. Then he asked the artist next to him to watch his booth for a few. He glanced at me, and headed toward the staff exit. Of course I followed.</p>
<p>Hallway. Kissing, panting, groping. Desperate, for once.</p>
<p>“Yugi, I want to feel you in me right now!” he gasped, as his pants hit the floor. </p>
<p>“Oh, God, Yami!” I slid home and kissed the back of his neck. “You feel so good!”</p>
<p>We fucked fast. Too fast. I was coming before I knew it. “NO! Nonononono!” I moaned as my everything oozed into him.</p>
<p>“Yesyesyesyesyes!” he hissed in return. “When can you take another break?” he gasped.</p>
<p>“Every two hours,” I panted. “Lunch at one. Dinner at eight.”</p>
<p>“My room tonight,” he offered. “All night.”</p>
<p>I shook my head and kissed his neck again. “I don’t get off in beds.” Sad, but true. “Tonight at the rave. Behind the sound booth. You can scream.”</p>
<p>Yami moaned. “Oh fuck! I’m hard again, already.”</p>
<p>I pulled out and we kissed some more as we tried to cool down some, to go back out in the public view.</p>
<p>“I don’t know what our thing is, Yami,” I whispered, “but I like it.”</p>
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